Eric Darrell watched the man whom he had thus met on the platform of the elevated station. He wondered what magical power Paul Prescott possessed over Joe Leslie’s wife.
The man was odd looking, as a genius is ever supposed to be, but there was nothing about him to indicate that he might be a masher or a heart-breaker.
Darrell looked him over, taking a mental measurement of the man, as he had a dim idea the time might be near at hand when they would be on opposite sides.
The other left the train. Darrell followed him.
Presently he saw a woman join the artist and hand him a note, which he seemed to read with great eagerness, then he hurried off.
The keen eyes of the detective had noted something of extreme importance.
When Prescott believed he put the note away in his pocket, in reality it fluttered down to the pavement as he hastened away.
In just five seconds by the watch it was in the possession of Eric Darrell.
He then continued on his way to his rooms.
Reaching his den he changed his appearance, and appeared in his natural figure. Then he took out the paper just found and eagerly scrutinized it; not that he was particularly interested in the secrets of Paul Prescott, but the artist had crossed his path, and hence all that he did should be scrutinized.